Arrested Development

A COUPLE OF PELICANS CIRCLE in the air over Baffin Bay as the roar of a Chevy 454 engine fills the morning. Bart Ballard, a research scientist at the Caesar Kleberg Wildlife Research Institute, at Texas A&M-Kingsville, hands me a pair of noise-reducing earmuffs as I step aboard his airboat.

Ride On

ON A MILD SATURDAY AFTERNOON in January, I’m riding my bicycle along the Clear Fork of the Trinity River just southwest of downtown Fort Worth. It’s an easy ride through a primarily urban landscape, and the river itself is mostly tame—it gambols sedately over man-made stone dams and between broad sloping levee walls. Still, there are a number of hints pointing to the natural setting that once existed here.

Cast Away

IF YOU’VE NEVER BEEN FLY-FISHING before, maybe the first thing that comes to mind is Brad Pitt standing in a sun-drenched Montana trout stream in A River Runs Through It. That movie, an adaptation of Norman MacLean’s classic angling novella, formed the misguided impression for most Americans that fly-fishing is a romantic pursuit exclusive to the Rocky Mountains.


IT’S JUST BEFORE SIX ON a Saturday morning in August, and I’m a little dismayed to be stuck in traffic in Port Aransas, waiting with my friend for the ferry in a long line of serious trucks piled high with fishing gear. On the other side of the Corpus Christi Ship Channel, Bill Harvey, a fishery biologist with Texas Parks and Wildlife, is waiting for us by the Crab Man Marina with a trailerload of kayaks.


NO ONE HAS EVER ACCUSED the city of Port Arthur of being cute or mistaken it for a vacation paradise. It is home to one of the largest oil refinery and petrochemical complexes on earth, a place where rusting inventories of offshore oil rigs are stacked alongside hulking tankers and where tank farms disappear into gumbo swamps.

Guad Is Great

AH, THE CHALLENGE OF RUNNING WHITE-WATER RAPIDS, of dipping a fly in swift streams rife with rainbow and brown trout, the exhilaration of being in a wild place when there’s a chill in the air: These are a few of my favorite things. Every summer, I pine for the Rockies or somewhere else in the great American West.

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